


The Sum of Six Lives

by rapunzariccia



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-20
Updated: 2013-09-20
Packaged: 2017-12-27 04:08:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/974148
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rapunzariccia/pseuds/rapunzariccia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Six-and-a-bit short interwoven drabbles based on the snippets of the lives of Bethany and Carver Hawke as they grew up. For they are one in two bodies, two minds with one fate, and Thedas is cruel to those who want for little besides peace and happiness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Sum of Six Lives

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't make my mind up which timeframe I wanted to follow, so the narrative jumps about a bit. In one lifetime they shared a brother, in another a sister, in another there were two mages instead of one. Despite that, it has a very particular end.

The first time she cast a spell was by accident. She was too young to remember why now, but she’s been told that she’d stamped her foot hard and shrieked as only a child could, and she has the vague memory of pure, unbridled anger, and something had caught aflame. Silence had reigned supreme for just a little while, and then there had been more yelling and scrambling to put the fire out, and she had started to cry just to add an extra layer of urgency to the equation. Father had silenced her, but only just, and she had threatened tears for the rest of the evening. Once put to bed she’d started to sniffle again, worried she had yet to be punished, and had only quietened when Carver rolled over and took her hand and squeezed it and told her to be _quiet_ because she was making too much

noise had been drowning out his thoughts. It was just another thing refusing to go right, and there was no point trying to read when the world wouldn’t shut up, so the only logical thing to do was slip out back to peer over the fence and see what was happening. _Something to do with brother,_ he thought as he struggled to look. He wasn’t yet tall enough to look without a box, not like Garrett who wasn’t even done growing yet but tall as a _house_ , almost. But it wasn’t their brother, or anyone he knew by name, just a rabble with swords and pitchforks and one or two with the Chanter’s sun on their chests, and the whole thing made him feel just a bit uneasy. They swept by his house, but his eyes never left them, and he watched as they stopped at the farm two doors down. It wasn’t long before the skinny boy that lived there was being dragged out and having steel bared at him to the litany of _maleficar, maleficar_ , and he felt cold as he stood

shivering under the blanket because she stayed out too late, too long, and it’s _winter_ , Bethany, did you expect you could just get away with running about without even a jumper on? But she doesn’t say a single word, just shoves her fingers under her armpits and refuses to talk. It’s not long before she’s left with a sigh and despite the coverlet she’s both hot and cold all at once, but she wouldn’t have done a single thing differently. It was Emma that told her where to go and when and the two had pinky sworn not to tattle, and besides, how was she supposed to tell her brother or sister or parents that she’d stayed out to play at kissing with that nice boy from across the village? It had been worth it at the time, but as she lay in bed now she wasn’t sure that she wasn’t an idiot after walking in the snow for

miles and miles from home. Ostagar might have been gorgeous if it hadn’t been littered with campfires for the week he’d been there and then painted with blood. He’d left the regulation shield somewhere splintered on the battlefield and prayed every sore step of the way back home. He invoked the Maker’s name to swear more often than not and wondered absurdly if this was his punishment for doing so: an endless fight against darkspawn and a thankless journey back to Lothering with just his mount for company. Out here it was just him and his steel and his heels in the stolen horse’s flank. Somewhere out there were his siblings and his mother unaware what the world held in store, and he was all too aware that they might even be torn apart by the time he returned. He nudged the horse again, urging him on, _on_ ,

"just a little further." But it was always just a little further, or over this next hill, or nearly there, because if they stopped they were dead, and if they were dead there was no point to any of their countless struggles over the years. Smoke was curling toward the sky behind them, thick and black, the kind that thatched roofs made when they burned, and they knew they’d left just in time. If they’d stayed for even a day longer, no doubt they’d be cooling or charring on the ground with whoever else had been unlucky enough to fall. Marian had a splash of red painted across her nose that she refused to talk about, and she kept trying to take Mother’s arm, to hurry them along, but there was only so much ground they could cover in a day. Her twin kept casting dark glances behind them, fearing the worst would catch up to them because of the way they dawdled, and it was all she could do to smile when he caught her eye. "You can

_do it,_ he screamed at himself, and then he was lifting his sword and bringing it down hard and fast and black blood was spilling everywhere. The rest of them - weak and without swords, or taking point - were filing by and it was just him holding them back, and unlike him the blighted were endless and tireless. He pushed the thought of falling to the back of his mind as he’d been taught and prepared for yet more battle and then fire rained from the sky, and his brother was pulling him to safety. The redheaded wench and her templar husband were well ahead, and Bethany had her staff in hand, the better to fight with, and from the way the ground was shaking the battle was far from done. _Maker_ , his mind supplied as the beast rounded the corner, _that’s one hell of a_

monster and man mingled alike deep under the rock and every breath could be their last. It was a more comforting thought than it should have been, but there was the promise of the lost half of a soul waiting by the Maker’s side, and what could Kirkwall hold for the grieving better than that?


End file.
